


Pacifica the Small Town Skater

by Smiledip (romashka)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Ice Skating, Shippy Gen, Winter, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romashka/pseuds/Smiledip
Summary: “She says she wants us to go to the winter market with her! Like adate...” Mabel put her hand on Dipper’s arm to emphasise the gravity of the situation.“Uh...a date with which one of us?”Mabel froze for a second, contemplating this, then made a dismissive gesture. “Pshh. It doesn’t matter! She likes us, anyway! She’s associating with us in a non-life-threatening situation!”





	Pacifica the Small Town Skater

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last year and revamped it after reading Lost Legends and remembering how much I love these kids. That's my explanation for posting a winter fic in August, anyway.

_Hey, Mabes, do you and Dipper want to come to the winter market with me? We’ll go to the outdoor ice rink and I’ll show you guys what a good skater I am while you fall on your butts._ The message was followed by the ice skate and diamond emojis.

“Dipper! She called me Mabes! That’s only one letter away from babes!” She gasped. “My regular name is only _two_ letters away from babes!”

Dipper looked up from his computer, not needing to ask who Mabel was referring to. “What’d she say? And did she manage to wash the trash out of her hair?”

“She says she wants us to go to the winter market with her! Like a _date_...” Mabel put her hand on Dipper’s arm to emphasise the gravity of the situation.

“Uh...a date with which one of us?”

Mabel froze for a second, contemplating this, then made a dismissive gesture. “Pshh. It doesn’t matter! She likes us, anyway! She’s associating with us in a non-life-threatening situation!”

“Grunkle Stan’s going to the winter market to sell some kind of gross overpriced candy from back in New Jersey, right?”

“Yeah! Should I say we’ll go?”

* * *

“It’s kinda lame here,” said Pacifica when they met up. She was dressed in a stylish coat and earmuffs which, she said, served the dual purpose of warmth and pretending not to be able to hear people. “Lame in a...cool way though? Like Pioneer Day.” She paused, remembering how Pioneer Day had been exceptionally lame and not cool at all.

“Hey, just like you said about me! Or was that cool in a lame way...”

“Whatever. The ice rink is the best part. They used to let my family in first, but not any more, apparently,” she said, completely failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

They walked past faux-European wooden stalls selling holiday decorations, and pretzels, and the glühwein they weren’t old enough to have but glanced somewhat longingly at anyway.

“I had skating lessons, you know, a couple years ago,” she said, almost defensively. “Along with the horse riding and the tennis, and golf, and singing. I had a coach. My parents kinda lost interest as soon as it was clear I was never gonna be, like, the next Nancy Kerrigan. But I’m still the best in town, obviously.”

“Who’s Nancy Kerrigan?”

“Seriously?” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Skater, Olympics, golden girl big deal in the 90s, uh, had her kneecap broken by that guy who- okay, maybe she’s not the best example -”

“Oh, is _that_ why Candy said I should break your kneecap with my golf club?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, nothing, it was back before I even taught you about sharing. I mean, shah-ring.”

They grew close to the rink, and it really was pretty. Someone had tried, anyway. There were lights strung up in the trees, which had just come on in the early evening. Even though it was no longer empty, it wasn’t busy.

“Well, look at you three, the most famous kids in town!” the ticket seller exclaimed as they approached. “Now you two don’t skate, do you,” she said, turning to the twins, “But Pacifica certainly does, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Pacifica was caught between glowing smugly from the recognition of her skill and glowering from being addressed as ‘sweetheart’ at the extremely mature and grown up age of thirteen. She sighed dramatically. “Not for a while. I need- ahem. I need...” She shuddered. “ _Rental skates._ ”

“Wow, I never thought I’d live to see a Northwest have to rent anything.”

“It’s hard for me too,” Pacifica replied solemnly, hand on her heart. She felt a pang of loss remembering the skates she’d not long grown out of – pristine white with _PNW_ monogrammed in gold on the right boot. She thought of the picture of her wearing them on a podium at a competition somewhere in Portland, and of another picture, another podium, her with a silver medal on her neck glaring daggers at the girl a step above. The prospect of having to use those scruffy blue plastic rental skates that could have had someone else’s gross feet in them as recently as an hour ago was highly distressing.

Mabel and Dipper had already put theirs on, and Pacifica reluctantly followed suit. “I hope I’m still good enough that I never have to hold either of you dorks’ hands.”

_Dork_ , thought Dipper, the insult-that-wasn’t-really-an-insult that perfectly expressed Pacifica’s friendship with them both.

Skating really was not Dipper’s forte, and he clung to the barrier at first, blanching in momentary fear every time he began to lose his balance. It wasn’t Mabel’s either, but that had never stopped her, and after a few unsteady laps she began to barrel around with reckless abandon – and when she fell, she reasoned, that was just an opportunity to slide along like the penguin that adorned her current sweater.

Pacifica held her head high as she too stepped onto the ice. Muscle memory served her reasonably well but time and the unfamiliar skates did not, and she stumbled, regaining her balance with the I-meant-to-do-that embarrassment of a cat that had fallen off a table. Conscious that some of the other skaters were watching her, she circled towards the mostly clear centre of the ice. Though the cheery holiday pop didn’t match it at all – _you have to let the coach decide your music if you want anyone to take you seriously, Pacifica –_ she struck the pose that marked the beginning of the program she remembered best. Go big or go home.

“Dipper, look,” Mabel stage-whispered, clattering to a halt at the barrier, “She’s gonna do a thing.”

“Oh, I’m looking.”

Pacifica began the opening step sequence and it felt all wrong and clumsy and everything she hated to be because there was no sparkly dress or clear ice or practice or warmup or judges or...parents. Or pressure. She was doing it. She was doing it anyway. She entered the first jump and it was bad, it was underrotated, she fudged the landing, but she didn’t fall, and it registered in her brain that it wouldn’t have mattered even if she had because these people were dumbasses who didn’t know what good skating was and they weren’t going to-

“WOO!” shouted Mabel, startling her. “Check out ELSA over here!”

Pacifica found the time to throw Mabel an almost fondly exasperated look before continuing, and she was doing poorly, nowhere near her old standard, but who cared? She was Pacifica freakin’ Northwest.

“And Northwest executes an excellent...spirally thing...salchow? Surely a top contender...” Dipper commentated.

Pacifica deviated from the program, crossing around to repeat what had really been a loop that barely left the ice at all. Skating was just...so much more fun without having to think about winning for once. With more confidence she entered a camel spin, and was interrupted by a sharp “Hey!” from a steward. “You’re not allowed to do that with other people on the ice, okay? Don’t want you decapitating the kiddos.”

“Ugh, fine.” Pacifica lowered her foot and slowed to a stop, her competitor’s instinct requiring her to at least briefly hold a smile and finishing pose.

Mabel impulsively threw an already-opened bag of candy from her pocket in Pacifica’s general direction, the way she’d seen skaters’ fans on TV do with flowers and plushies. It almost hit Pacifica in the face.

“Thank you!” she mouthed back, flashing the smile of a gracious celebrity. “I’m not picking those up.” She skated over to join the twins, as Mabel swooped in to retrieve the candy. They were nice, they complimented her for reasons other than trying to get on her good side, and it made a welcome change from her father cataloguing her mistakes.

“If you’re not allowed to do the fancy stuff any more, do you wanna go round together?”

“Sure.”


End file.
